"I intend to stay here, anyhow."
"Huh?" The old man turned with a start. "I'm damned if you do." Then, savagely: "What do you suppose I came down here for? I'm lonesome. I want you to come home."
Kirk smiled craftily and looked at Runnels. "Well, what can you offer?
I'm doing pretty well as it is, and I can't afford to lay off."
His father in turn appealed to the Acting Superintendent. "See! It's nothing less than blackmail. Is he any good, Mr. Runnels?"
"If there weren't so much politics in this job, he'd be Master of
Transportation of the P. R. R. That's doing pretty well, isn't it?
We're both going to quit and look for new work."
"Do you drink, Kirk?"
"I haven't even had an alcohol rub since I left New York. But, dad, if you place me, you'll have to take care of Runnels, too. He knows more about railroads than—you do."
Mr. Anthony grunted a trifle sceptically at this and murmured: "He must be a bright young man. I suppose what he doesn't know, you do. Well, how would you both like to come North and give me some lessons?"
"Do you mean it?" they cried in chorus.
"I do."